Ex Luna, Ad Astris
by TheGoddamazon
Summary: From the moon to the stars, Mozenrath sets out on a relentless pursuit to reclaim godhood with Nadja's help. Sequel to "Viperinae".
1. Relentless

**Author's Note: **Back again for round two! Ha! I have no idea what I'm going to do with this fic…so we'll start small. Let's pick up almost where we left off, hm?

_Ex Luna, Ad Astris_

By Shadovar

_I will __**never **__be a __**stepping**__**stone**__._

She remembered only parts of the ordeal, now. The pain faded long before the memory began to settle into the silt of her mind, blending with the sands of time that warped it. The pain of violation faded, scar tissue healed, and yet the rift betwixt herself and Aladdin was all the wider. She could not fathom what had happened that had turned her world into a glass cage, pressing her palms against the surface feebly while screaming…and yet none heard her pleas. She was suffering, suffering in silence and yet all she could do was go through the motions of her daily discourses with the detachment that would make the dead blush. She could feel the touch of hands against her skin and it crawled, she could not taste the food in her mouth, tasting only blood, pain, and ash. She could not smell the sweet oils of her bath—only brimstone and iron. Sometimes, she imagined she was dead, lying broken and bloodied on a cold stone floor. Sometimes she imagined she was a bird, wings outstretched and wind beneath them, carrying her as far from herself as possible. Always when she imagined these things, there was a voice to pull her back.

In the wake of the chaos that had swept the nations of the Seven Deserts, even the foes seemed quieted. Mozenrath had come dangerously close to the heart of Agrabah, had already sewn the seeds of victory within the hearts of other kingdoms, and he had nearly succeeded. The feat was recognized, of that there would be no doubt…but how long would this tension-wrought tranquility last? How long before Mozenrath's feat ceased to stun others into humble silence? How long before the beast of ambition reared its ugly head again and Aladdin was forced to take up the post as Agrabah's savior once more?

Jasmine could not fathom anything worse than what she endured…and her father had granted a six month grace of clemency to the individuals responsible. The thought of them being allowed freedom to prove their claim made her blood turn to liquid fire; it was not right, to allow them to be freed on account of Mozenrath's claim to godhood. Not after he and Nadja had attempted to slander her name and credibility. They were heartless monsters, but they had saved her life.

She could not gainsay that.

Jasmine had not heard word from the West, of whether or not Nadja and Mozenrath had succeeded in their quest which after settling back into her discourses in Agrabah seemed more foolhardy than naught. Aladdin did not judge her for what had befallen her in Amoria, but there was no doubt that things had changed. It was now common knowledge that the princess was no longer pure, which under different circumstances would render her unfit for marriage. Now, it was vicious gossip amongst courtiers. She could feel their eyes on her back, could imagine with startling clarity the nature of their conversations amongst each other.

_I would assume after dealing with that clueless street rat she was starved for __**any **__kind of passion._

_Yes, yes. I'm sure after Aladdin failed to display any sort of __**daring **__in private she grew weary of it all._

_I'm surprised she hadn't taken a lover before someone plucked that pretty flower._

Jasmine heard these things in the confines of her mind and was disgusted to even look upon herself in the mirror. Never, since she and Aladdin had been together, did she ever think of how they could interact in the bedchamber. The thought had never crossed her mind, had never even entered her dreams. She had never felt the longing of passion. Left breathless in the wake of her first carpet ride (and each ride hence), of a certainty. She was slightly dazzled by Genie's parlor tricks betimes, but never had she longed for Aladdin to make love to her.

Passing strange that the thought had never crossed her mind before, and now that it did, it disgusted her. Jasmine glanced up her reflection once more. She wondered if Nadja had run, if Mozenrath had run with her, far from his basis of power, far from home. She wondered if they made love like gods at war, if Mozenrath touched Nadja in such a way as to subdue the woman. She wondered how Nadja kissed him, if it was as innocent and untainted as the way Aladdin kissed her…or if it was filthy and feral. Jasmine shut the book on that wondering. She wondered if they would honor the clemency granted them. It was then, it dawned upon her.

Why had her father been so lenient? He did not need to free both for the task to be completed. Jasmine's sleep-deprived eyes narrowed. As she dressed that morning, she decided she would pry her father for answers. Justice had not been served, and she knew her father—while a gentle man by nature—knew when to steel his will against the tide of love…even a love as subtle and secretly consuming as the one Nadja harbored for the evil sorcerer. Jasmine wanted to spit just thinking of it. Were it not for Mozenrath and Nadja she would be dead. Were it not for Mozenrath, none of this would have happened.

When had it all changed? When did things go from black and white to an insurmountable shade of gray?

_I believe I can see the future, because I repeat the same routine.  
I think I used to have a purpose, but then again, that might have been a dream._

"It's not working, Nadja. Try it again." Mozenrath's voice sounded drained and fatigued—she knew they'd been overexerting themselves, but she was bound to keep her own counsel on the matter. With a heavy sigh, she continued to pump the lever that charged the sorcerer with electrical energy, to supposedly amplify his power to call down Aniki as he had attempted innumerable times before. Nadja could only sigh sadly.

He still did not understand…

"Damnit!" He cried and sank to his knees, sweat glistening on his pale skin. Nadja did not move to his side, but Xerxes was there slithering by his master's side. Nadja watched with a cool indifference as Mozenrath rose trembling to his feet. His body exuded sweat, while his gauntlet exuded wisps of blue smoke from absorbing most of the energy that had passed through the sorcerer. While it was parasitic, it did serve as an inadvertent defense for the man. Nadja feared that he was too dependent upon magical power to realize other strengths he could have cultivated. So engrossed was the woman in her own thoughts that she scarce realized he'd closed the distance between them, the icy grip of his gloved hand closing around her deceptively delicate wrist. For weeks he had focused on nothing but finding godhood, and for weeks he had failed.

He was tired of failing.

"You know the question…but so too do you know the answer," he said, his voice drained of its demanding arrogance, leeched free of the power to command, and imbued with the tone of desperation. Nadja could practically taste the plea in his voice. He was exhausted, and it showed in the dark circles under his eyes, and the drawn look on his face.

"Nadja…please…it is the only way to clear our names." Nadja sobered then, inclining her chin a touch before she responded, gingerly prying his grip from her wrist.

"Mozenrath, you know how you feel when something is handed to you; something that you work hard for only to have it simply given to you like an errant child receives a candy to pacify their cries? You know the feeling of disappointment that comes with having it so easy?" Mozenrath's expression waned from exhaustion to irritation and the corner of his mouth twitched as his lips twisted into a frustrated snarl.

"Exactly," Nadja continued, putting her hands on his slender shoulders, "If I told you how easy it was to reclaim your lost godhood, not only would you be disappointed in its simplicity, but you would not believe me anyway. I will, however, tell you that the path to your lost godhood does not lay in relentlessly overextending yourself and charging yourself with limitless energy. That is not how you summoned Aniki before, and naught has changed since then." Mozenrath saw her point, and sighed, knifing his fingers through his hair. Nadja began to walk away when the icy grip caught her wrist again. The sorcerer jerked her close, pressing his forehead against her own, shutting his eyes and breathing deep her scent. Even here, in a land where spices and incense practically swirled in the sands, her scent was exotic and strikingly distinct. His hands smoothed along the small of her back, admiring the rotund curve of her rear.

"You must see me through this, Nadja. Many things I can accomplish alone, but this is something far more difficult than even my power can handle." Even in a bared moment of vulnerability he maintained his prickling hubris. "It's been a long few weeks. Perhaps we should rest." God knew they had earned a respite for their toil. Mozenrath's lips pressed against her own, cool and smooth. For once, Nadja could not will the consuming passion that had gripped her to stir and she pulled away.

"What is it?" Mozenrath asked, almost concerned, yet frustration bled around the edges of his voice. Nadja pursed her lips.

"You are going to destroy yourself," She said and Mozenrath was already throwing up his hands in exasperation.

"Oh this again, Nadja? How many times have I told you: _I can __**handle **__it?_" He growled. "I have summoned Aniki before without even trying and wasn't even remotely taxed afterward. In fact, whatever injuries I had healed shortly after." Nadja shook her head.

"That's not what I meant, you know that. You've the Gauntlet gnawing away at your humanity on one end and this foolish godhood reclamation attempt on the other and for what? Clearing your name with people you hate? You've the power to level their entire kingdom on a whim. Why should you have to clear your name for them?" Mozenrath's brows raised in genuine surprise. Then, his expression went into that sultry, smug and superior look he always wore.

"Well, well, well…look who finally got their gumption back. Does this mean you want to wage war with the Seven Desert kingdoms with me, Nadja?" Nadja hesitated and he almost wanted to slap her.

"No," she said shortly, "I am telling you to ignore them. What's seven kingdoms compared to the world? Conquer the world around them…they'll have no choice but to fall at your feet then." Nadja could not believe she was saying this, but she was lucky Mozenrath was thirsty for power else he would have _gone through with it_.

"That is a splendid plan, Adder…and I shall enjoy executing it _after _I have claimed my rightful place as a god." Nadja palmed her face. Mozenrath took her hand away, chuckling.

"And you…you will help me rule this place, won't you?" Nadja saw him in that instant as a child, starved for attention and love. She shrugged.

"I've no god to tether me to their service."

"Save one." Mozenrath corrected, his voiced pitched lower as he kissed her again. This time, Nadja felt her passion stir a little hotter than before.


	2. Razor Sharp

**Author's Note:** I like reviews, constructive criticism, praise, hell I'll even take flames. I've got my creative spark back, so I'm going to light a fire under my muse's ass and see what happens. As always, please read and review. =)

_Ex Luna, Ad Astris_

By Shadovar

_Those who seek absolute power, even though they seek it to do what they regard as good, are simply demanding the right to enforce their own version of heaven on earth. And let me remind you, they are the very ones who always create the most hellish tyrannies. Absolute power does corrupt, and those who seek it must be suspect and must be opposed._

"It was said long ago, when the stars were still young, and man was still learning about himself, that a god descended from the heavens to bless the world of man with knowledge and power. Unbeknownst to man, who struggled to ascertain the fact that knowledge and power were one and the same; this god brought with him the duality of good and evil. Aniki, a god of unprecedented light and beauty, brought all that was good into the world, teaching man to fend for himself in a civilized manner. None knew Aniki's true face, but the face he wore was that of a tall, slender youth, with dark, laughing eyes, and shining black hair. He had a voice like warm milk, and always was welcomed as a guest in the houses of those who worshipped him.

Aniki was truly beloved by all in the land known as Amoria. His brother, Aoki, jealous of the favor the people bestowed upon the Lord of Starlight, began to amass followers of his own. Beneath the shadow of Aniki's fame, hatred and malignance began to fester, and it was when Aoki had amassed enough worshippers to amplify his power that he struck.

Aniki had been unprepared for the attack.

The battle tore the land of Amoria asunder, and many people perished beneath the fury of the warring brothers—the warring gods. Friend turned against friend, and brother slaughtered brother in the name of heathen gods that had been adopted out of love…and hate. Aniki fled to the Hinterlands and to trap him, Aoki cursed the land, sealing in the people with blistering winds in the day that none dared trek to follow their beloved god's trail. Aoki knew where Aniki had fled. Aoki knew that he would find Aniki's shadow in the stars. It was there, the spiteful god followed, and in the night, surrounded by a sea of magma, Amoria was drenched in the blood of a fallen god.

Aoki had won, and Aniki's spirit was scattered to winds, to be reborn anew. Aoki, knowing he had secured his hold on power by slaying his brother, did not bother to track the soul down.

And in the kingdom of Epion, the mightiest of the Arabian clusters, the wail of a young prince pierced the night, and the heir to the throne was imbued with the blessings of Heaven, and entrusted with the light of the stars…"

Mozenrath slammed shut the tome he had been reading, frowning. The single passage was all he knew of Aniki and Aoki's brutal war. There was no accounting for the god's weaknesses or strengths; just the nature of their coming, their worship, their reign, and Aniki's death and rebirth. Nothing to give him the clues needed to evoke his incarnation's full power; or even a little. Mozenrath wondered if his parents had known that he harbored the soul of a god, his powers sealed away by Fate and condemning him to a life of insatiable lusts for absolute power. All his life he had felt the indolent void within, longing to fill it with magical strength where his physical strength lacked, and at the age of ten, he had been sold into what could only be slavery to one of the most powerful and cruel villains ever to draw breath. His mother had not even wept at his passing.

Mozenrath had brought Destane back to Epion to ensure she wept at his return. And wept she had; wept with regret that she had had a hand in the molding of a power-mad monster whose only master was his own ambition. His mother had called out to him by his birth name, and not the name Destane had christened him with.

_Ahmad_.

Mozenrath had not even deigned her with a response, and by the time Destane was finished, Epion was but a dusty memory, and Mozenrath's mother and father had been converted to undead slaves. Most of the time, he was unmoved by this cruelty, but within his heart of hearts, he ached for the reconciliation he could never have. Mozenrath returned to his study at Destane's side with renewed vigor.

And still the void yawned within him, howling in its empty despair. Still he hungered, and with each day that limped past, Destane's depravities only served to fuel his disgust and spite, and Mozenrath eventually amassed enough power to take his vengeance…and his rightful place as ruler of a land that was not his own.

Well and so, he no longer bore the name or crown of Epion, and there was no Epion to rule any longer. He had become the Lord of the Black Sand, and he wrote his legacy in the parchment of the land with the blood of the innocent as his ink.

All of this had served to make him into the treacherous foe Aladdin and his friends had come to fear and despise.

But the void had never been filled, and in the darkness of the perpetual night of the Black Sand Kingdom, it sucked at the edges of his subconscious. Mozenrath retreated to the balcony, where the coolness of the air could sober his mind, and serve to distract him from being pulled into the void where Aniki's light was supposed to be. In the bedchamber, Nadja slept in exhausted silence, her naked body casting a dark silhouette against the white sheets, sprawled amongst the silken fabric and entwined with one of the pillows. Mozenrath would no longer admit that he was infatuated and in love with the older woman who brought with her strange knowledge and decades of martial training that even the hardest warrior in the Seven Deserts worked to keep up with. But Mozenrath had learned that Nadja, for all her physical prowess, was painfully human. She had exuded no magical strength save for when she projected her sheer force of will on his Gauntlet. Mozenrath's skeletal hand clenched into a fist.

She was weak. With a single spell he could leave her smoldering against the sheets. No one would care she was gone. Her gods had already abandoned her and her comrades were slain. No one would miss her.

No one save him.

Unclenching his fist he instead ran the bony fingertips against her skin. She shivered in her sleep and Mozenrath extracted a small amount of joy from the fact that while she slumbered, her life was held inextricably in his hand. He need but reclaim his godhood and he would rule over all who once sought to stand against him. All of them would bow before him. First, he would conquer the deserts, and then he would conquer the world. When he was finished, he could contend with other worlds. None would dare oppose a god, and any who did were more fool than they gave themselves credit for. Mozenrath couldn't help himself…he had to cackle at the ambitious thoughts birthing in his mind. Nadja made a moan of annoyance and Mozenrath chuckled, stroking her hair.

_I will be a god again, and I'll take nothing save pleasure in __**reprimanding **__any who dare to blockade me._

_Reconciliation__ should be accompanied by justice, otherwise it will not last._

The mirror shards lay where they were, scattered on the cold marble floor, reflecting the room in a surreal display of angles and images. The last of the sun's ray filtered through the blue mesh curtains of the balcony, and Jasmine had been unable to move from her place. Aladdin would usually visit her at night, where they would spend hours talking about anything and nothing, or simply basking in the company of the other. Jasmine missed the days when their closeness could not be damaged. Now it seemed as if Aladdin wanted nothing to do with her. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that it was not so. Aladdin was giving her room to breathe without remembering the scent of a man; giving her room to heal in peace.

But sometimes healing could not be done on one's own.

Jasmine lay in bed, picking at the embroidery of one of the many pillows as her thoughts crowded her psyche, making her drowsy. There came a point, in the past few weeks, where she seemed to run out of tears to shed. Instead, she grieved within, and while she healed, she could still remember the feel of brutal hands on her body. She was so small and fragile despite it all, and her waist had fit in Aoki's hands without effort. He had done things to her that were expected in the bedchamber, but the manner in which he had done them had not been.

"Jasmine?" Aladdin's voice was distinctive; always warm, always kind, and it wrapped up Jasmine's senses like a velvet cloak, though not nearly as stifling. Jasmine shifted in bed slightly, but gave Aladdin no indication that she was awake. Aladdin would not be impugned.

"Jasmine, I know you're awake…" He sounded unsure, as if coming here had been a mistake. Jasmine wished he would leave her alone. His bare footsteps were soundless, as usual, and she was scarce aware he'd come in until she felt the warmth of his presence behind her.

"Jasmine we need to talk. It's been weeks and you've barely said a word to anyone. You've just been…droning around." Aladdin wanted to reach out to her, wanted desperately to reach in her heart and scoop out the ache that ailed her so incessantly, so he could have his spunky, fun, wild-eyed princess back. This new dichotomy was as repulsive as it was disheartening.

"What is there to talk about?" Jasmine's voice came out lackluster and quiet, as if she were uncaring as to what words dropped from her dry, chapped lips. That's when she felt it, Aladdin's fingertips on her shoulder. Jasmine flinched as another memory was triggered.

"Don't." She said simply, and Aladdin acceded. He lay beside her, as he used to do in the night, waiting for her to fall asleep while he slipped out quietly to return to his hovel across the city. This time, Jasmine's presence was not warm and welcoming…she had no presence at all.

"What happened in Amoria, Jasmine? What happened that forced you to shut us—me—out like this? What's happening to us?" Jasmine felt the tightness in her throat as tears sprang anew in her eyes. She turned to face him slowly, and he could see the dark circles beneath her eyes, the bloodshot look in them, the lack of luster within that had been the guiding spark of her very nature before something in Amoria had broken her.

"It is painful, Aladdin…and I have no desire to relive it. Please…I just need…" Aladdin cupped her cheek in his palm wordlessly. She needed him, but neither would say it, least of all her. Aladdin leaned in to brush his lips against her forehead.

"Stay with me, tonight." She whispered and Aladdin nodded.

"I'll always stay with you." It was what she wanted to hear, but she needed him there with her in that moment. Her world felt as if was made of gossamer, and she was forced to fight her way through to see clearly what lay ahead. Aladdin held her hand, pressing his lips to her delicate fingers with a display of genuine love so profound it moved the princess to tears in his arms that night. They lay in silence while she emptied herself of the guilt and shame that had nettled away at her in the hours where she was forced alone with her thoughts. Aladdin forgave her any guilt she felt by not blaming her for any of it. She had not choice in the matter, and that was all there was to it. When the tears ran dry, Aladdin was still there, holding her trembling body in his arms, breathing deep the scent of her shimmering black hair.

_Always_.

_Our fatigue is often caused not by work, but by worry, __**frustration,**__ and resentment_.

It was rare that their lord was quiet and reclusive, but following his defeat at the hands of his brother's incarnation, Aoki had sequestered himself within the confines of his private chambers and punished any who deigned to disturb his brooding. For weeks he had brooded, contemplating abandoning his post as the ruthless ruler of Amoria, a land he had stolen at the cost of his brother's own life. It was possible to leave the land in a state of emptiness for a time, and he could hunt down Aniki's incarnation and tear the essence of the god from his splayed chest. For a long while, this vision of that black-haired, pale-faced wizard bloodied by defeat, laying splayed open and stinking to the open Amorian sky, comforted Aoki as he weighed the pros and cons of abandoning his kingdom. However, as the days limped into long, silent weeks, Aoki longed to make this stilled vision a reality. He wanted to sink his fangs into Mozenrath's heart, silently declaring his final victory over his cumbersome brother. Once killed in a mortal incarnation, he would never be able to rise again, and Aoki would have a time peeling the flesh from the bones of Mozenrath's dark companion, the vicious warrior woman.

For a while, these thoughts comforted the god of fire, chaos, discord, and suffering.

But it was not enough. He wanted to smell their suffering and to taste their pain on the roof of his mouth. He imagined Aniki's soul would smolder once he had ripped the vessel to bits…and made the woman watch.

Aoki emerged from his chambers for the first time, and he was uncharacteristically content. It would be easy to torment and kill them, but it was getting to them that remained the quandary. As this world's god, his power would be considerably weaker outside of the realm of his worshippers. He needed the prayers of those devout men and women to fuel his strength—and it was that fact which drove him. He summoned his two finest priests, tall, gaunt individuals with sullen eyes and human finger bones strung along their necks and waist-belts. They emerged like living smoke, casting stark shadows against the walls of the room, clad in gray and black where Aoki's crimson and gold dominated the castle.

"We live only to carry out your will, Lord of the Immortal Fires," the priests said in unison, a customary greeting amongst their clergy. Together, they kneeled on their knees, foreheads pressed against the warm stone floor beneath Aoki's bared feet. The priests dared not move until their lord told them to do so.

He did not.

Instead, Aoki looked upon them with scarce-concealed disdain, though it was a general disdain that he used to scathe all he looked upon. As his zealous supplicants, the two priests practically wallowed with unprecedented joy in the untapped fury of that glower. Aoki was silent for a time, not caring for the priests' agonizing knees, bruising against the hard stone, or the blood rushing to their heads from their worshipping positions. After a while, Aoki found the words.

"I need for you to journey to the Seven Deserts," He began, looking away from the priests to focus his attention elsewhere. He would never admit it, but he could feel the relief as the priests relaxed. Aoki absently gestured for them to rise, and they did so gladly.

"For what, O Lord of Despair?" Aoki almost laughed at the title, and wondered what other ridiculous monikers his priests and supplicants called him within the blood-hallowed halls of his temples. Instead of dwelling on the seemingly infinite possibilities, Aoki frowned and looked back at the two priests, who seem to shrink under his terrible gaze.

"I need you to gather followers and amass worship to me there." The priests shared a look between themselves before the elder priest responded.

"Would you like for us to bring the followers here to join us? Or are you seeking to expand your mighty kingdom?" Without hesitation Aoki's eyes flared and the priest's robes caught fire from within. His companion put distance between them as the man writhed in agony, dying from the smoke and flames. When he was nothing but a sizzling corpse, mouth twisted open in horror, pain, and shock, skin seared away beyond recognition; Aoki looked at the other priest.

"Have you any questions about the reasoning behind my wanting worshippers in the Seven Deserts?" Wordlessly, the priest dropped into the supplicant kneel, his body language enough of an answer for the capricious fire god. Aoki smiled, acknowledging the fearful man's obeisance and dismissing him to commence the task assigned to him. It would be a subtle plan. When he had amassed enough followers to strengthen his powers outside of Amoria, he could not be stopped.

He only hoped Aniki's essence had not completely awakened for Mozenrath to do the same.

_And here inside our private war, I cried._

"It bothers me, Aladdin, that Jasmine has nearly completely withdrawn from herself." The Sultan said gravely, standing on the balcony overlooking his daughter's personal courtyard. Aladdin stood beside him, gripping the balcony's carved railing with sweaty palms. It worried him that Jasmine was refusing to open up and let him see the wounds dealt to her by Aoki…and more importantly, Mozenrath.

"You shouldn't have let that two-faced jackal go free, Sultan," Aladdin said, attempting to keep the earnest fierceness out of his voice. The Sultan looked up, his dark eyes thoughtful.

"And what would you have done? Put to death the very same people who saved her life? I had a hard choice to make, Aladdin, and it is only now I've heard you favor execution over clemency. How many men and women have you seen put to the sword for a wrongdoing against you or someone you cared about?" The Sultan's words baffled the younger man into silence. It was true; Aladdin had always taken the road less traveled when it came to his enemies. Even the worst of them had been spared in favor of a second chance or more. When he saw Nadja and Mozenrath working simultaneously to both save and damn Jasmine, he wanted nothing more than to make them answer for their crimes in blood.

"One good deed doesn't clean the slate of all the damage they've done to us." Aladdin argued quietly, and Sultan looked back, his expression grim. Aladdin followed his gaze, finding Jasmine standing in the balcony's breezeway, lingering like a ghost amidst the curtains. Aladdin's eyes widened but Jasmine had already begun to approach him.

"Is that all I am, Aladdin; a _good deed?_" She asked, tears in her eyes, poking him accusingly in the chest. Aladdin was too flustered to even argue his point. Jasmine slapped him hard.

"If you're going to sit around and do nothing while Mozenrath becomes a _god_, then maybe I should have married a man of action!" All the rumors that crowded her head, all the accusations, all the hurt, guilt, and despair colored her words a violent shade of red, lacquering it in fabricated hatred based on what she thought was being said about her. Aladdin drew back, and even the Sultan looked worried, although it was not Jasmine who retreated…it was Aladdin. Aladdin retreated in both fury and hurt. Jasmine regretted the words soon after she'd spat them out.

"You know, Jasmine, instead of sitting around feeling sorry for yourself, you should consider how many laws and rules I have bent for you and Aladdin's benefit," the Sultan said calmly, although the hurt and anger from Jasmine's fast turn-around still lingered beneath. Jasmine glowered.

"I'm just a good deed to you two," Jasmine said, "a small part used to weigh Mozenrath and Nadja's guilt when it shouldn't even be a question!" Confusion warbled in the tenuous thrum of her erstwhile calm voice, and her father watched her with a quiet gravity. He knew she was conflicted. Mozenrath and Nadja had saved and damned her in one breath, sullying her name in the courts and planting the seeds of doubt while they slipped off with a light sentence, caring nothing for the humiliation Jasmine endured in their wake. He too began to wonder if he had been wise in his decision to grant them a grace period while Mozenrath desperately tried to atone…

…or perhaps this was just another ploy to get Agrabah to let its guard down. Jasmine saw the weighted calculation on her father's face and stepped forward in earnest.

"You sense it too, don't you? They are going to use this against us, father," she said, "I know you have bent rules in the past on my behalf for Aladdin's sake but Aladdin had never done Agrabah any serious harm. A stolen fruit here, and thieved loaf of bread there, but he never tried to kill us all. Mozenrath and Nadja can not be comp—" She hissed, exasperated and frustrated with the entire situation. The Sultan inclined his head.

"I understand what you are going through, Jasmine, but the bottom line is executing them would have caused even greater upheaval than expected. You've got to look past your vengeance and glean the bigger picture. In the grand scheme of things, we would have had a better time of it quelling Nadja and Mozenrath's supporters than dousing the flames of rebellion in the kingdoms." The Sultan rubbed his temples and looked out over Agrabah, bathed in waning light.

"You should go to him and apologize. He has done nothing but good for both you and Agrabah, and to lash out at him because you are frustrated with the need for vengeance was most unwise." The Sultan did not look his daughter in the eye, did not even glance in her direction, but instead kept a vigilant eye on the horizon. Jasmine's shoulders slumped slightly, and she knew she had lost that even-temperament that had made her such an asset to Aladdin's motley crew of heroes. She turned and set out to find him, donning the brown robes she had worn the very day she met him, and letting herself out into the quiet streets of the city.

_Absolute __**power corrupts**__ absolutely_.

"Always it is the same, Nadja. The vision of it in my head, in the form of a chalice, just beyond my grasp! It glitters like a star amongst gems and yet I can not touch it for all I will myself to pursue it! What am I doing _**wrong**_?" Mozenrath's gloved arm swept angrily across the desk, scattered unlit candles, quills, inkwells, parchment, and books across the cold floor of black marble. Nadja watched, as calm as ever, and took in a deep breath. It would be now or never as the time to tell him that which he had overlooked in favor of this maddening pursuit of power and power alone.

"You are ignoring the purpose, Mozenrath. You seek only to amass Aniki's raw power to strengthen your own, but you must understand that to take the god into yourself, to unlock and open the door to godhood is to absorb all that comes with it." Mozenrath stared, his lips twisted into a scowl, though his eyes glittered with natural curiosity. Nadja continued, kneeling down to sweep her calloused fingertips across the sanded pages of a spellbook.

"You are unlocking a door, but you think it leads to a closet, from which you can pick and choose the things that you want to use. It is in fact a gateway from which there is no turning back. You will take Aniki into yourself, and to do so you must assimilate into what he was—what he represents." Mozenrath's brows furrowed, perplexed, but it dawned on him.

"You're asking me to forsake all that I am—"

"I am telling you to forsake all that does not matter. Make of yourself a vessel worthy of such power and it will come. You are, as of now, a tainted vessel, full of ugliness and blight—Aniki will not come to you unless you purge yourself of _everything _that makes you the man Aladdin and his friends despise so much."

"The man you love, Nadja." Nadja could feel the tension around the corners of her mouth, but she said nothing. He had voiced what she would not. Mozenrath approached her, sweat still glistening on his relaxed brow. He removed the Gauntlet, revealing the bleached bones of his arm beneath. Nadja did not flinch as he brushed her cheek with the fingertips, drawing blood from the small cuts. The color was as bright as hibiscus against the white of his bones. He licked it, savoring the taste. It was these moments between them that she wondered if she was his prisoner or his lover; his teacher, or his pet. Nadja felt sick with longing and revulsion in the same turn at the thought of being any of those things, though she knew at any time she could have released herself from the Citadel.

"How is it that you know what it is I must do? Why did you keep it from me?" Nadja only smiled, but Mozenrath would not let her go in silence this time. He wrapped his bony fingers around her throat, his expression hard and unyielding. This was the man she somewhat feared.

This was the man she loved; the man who could kill her on a whim, if she had not already pressed a blade against the tender flesh over his ribcage. The standoff both excited and infuriated him, but he did not yield, but neither did she.

"I am not liable to say, as it is irrelevant to your cause. But I had hoped you would discover the solution on your own. As it stands, time now runs desperately against both you and me and before all else—I am a self-preservationist." Mozenrath said nothing in response, but eventually a harsh small slashed through his handsome face. It was this that drew him to Nadja. The tenacity with which she clung to staying alive, the cold ferocity that burned beneath her flesh—a power he longed to tame and make absolutely his. She would forsake any and all to preserve herself. It was the core of all she had been trained and conditioned to do. Mozenrath leaned in, feeling the cold steel of her blade ease as his tongue-tip ran along the small cut he'd made on her cheek. He felt her pulse leap against his grip, and suppressed the urge to take her to the floor and have her right then and there; not that he had not done so before, in their earlier days, it did not take long to discover the viper's nigh insatiable appetite.

The two released one another in silence, with Nadja stretching the muscles of her bruised neck, and Mozenrath putting the Gauntlet back on, wincing as it once more began to bind itself to his life.

"I will unravel your mystery in time, _Viperinae_, as soon as I unravel mine." He said and Nadja returned his harsh smile.


End file.
